


Vague Unease

by Cloudnine101



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Night Vale Community Radio, POV Second Person, Typical Night Vale Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:17:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5139506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>You move into Night Vale on a Wednesday.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vague Unease

You move into Night Vale on a Wednesday. It's a sunny day; you're sweating as you slump down the road, shoulders hunched, eyes on the gently flickering asphalt. You blink. It's still. 

"Morning," a man you've never met calls out to you, before turning back to his seemingly fertile lawn bush. He's hacking away at it with shears. It rises in a vertical column, and almost reaches the roof of his house. It's pretty dang impressive.

You stare at him, racking her brains to remember the last time somebody said that to you.

"Morning," you say, long after you've turned the corner and he is out of sight. You shrug, and put on your headphones. They play white noise and nothing else, no matter how much you fiddle with them. After a while, you give up.

 

 

Your flat is small. You were told as much. You have been told so repeatedly, in fact - by the housing agency, by the local weather station, and, funnily enough, by your own parents, who then proceeded to ignore you for the rest of the week without any reasonable explanation, aside from a series of hms and ahs.

Seeing as you've been told - repeatedly - that your flat will be small, cramped, poky, dull, boring, flat, squashed, squishy and swaying, you were not expecting the charming bungalow you are facing.

You look down at the paper in your hand, and then back up. You're in the right place.

"Huh," you say. The ground moves, so quickly that you barely even notice it. You grip tightly into a lamppost, before realising that there is a rather large snake wrapped around it. You scream.

"Temper, temper," the snake chides, flops onto the ground, and slithers away.

You consider the fact that you may be going mad. It doesn't bother you as much as it probably should.

A teenage girl strides purposefully past you, crushing the snake beneath her boot heel. It flails, thrashing angrily. You screech, "Hey! What are you _doing_?" 

The woman's head snaps sideways. She has feathers in her hair, or maybe hair in her feathers. It's hard to tell.

"Snakes?" the girl says. "What _are_ snakes?" 

 

 

There's a woman standing in your kitchen. She's old. She's quiet. She carries herself with a certain sort of feline grace - as though she used to look rather spectacular, many, many years ago.

"Err," you say, breaking the stillness.

The woman turns to you, smiling apologetically. "Sorry," she says. "But, you see, I had to check the house was fit for living in. It's our civic duty to protect new neighbours."

"Thanks," you whisper, for the lack of any other sound. Your throat is parched. You cross to the tap, and find that it's made of plastic. You look around.

"Bottled water in the fridge," the woman informs you. She hasn't moved. Her long, lanky hair flops down across her chest. "I'm Josie. That's Erika. We live next door."

"Who's Erika?" you ask.

The old woman - Josie - smiles slyly. "Oh, they're just shy," she says. "You'll meet up eventually."

You don't know what to make of that. "Thanks," you repeat.

"No problem," Old Woman Josie says, and breezes out of the wide-open front door. You consider running after her, but by the time you reach the entryway, it's grown over with vines. You tear them apart, hands trembling, and peer out. A man pedals down the street on a unicycle, persued by a small pack of wild dogs.

You go back into the kitchen and pour yourself a large, soothing glass of orange juice, which doesn't help matters in the slightest. It makes you feel better.

 

 

You officially meet Cecil around a week later. You've seen him before, of course - he's always running here, there and everywhere, clipboard in hand, eyes alight with discovery. What he actually finds is uncertain, but he seems to enjoy himself.

Cecil has purple pupils. They're very bright. Once he starts holding your gaze, you find yourself lip-locked. This, Josie has informed you, is an ordinary reaction.

You've never met a man with three eyes before.

"Hi," you say, because you totally have the hang of this "socialisation" thing. "I would tell you my name, but I'm afraid I can't remember it. Does that happen to you sometimes?"

Cecil nods, face grave. "Yes," he says, his voice like melted butter. "But _my_ name's on bill boards all across town, so it's alright. I'm the radio presenter. I'm Cecil. Palmer." The eye in the centre of his forehead blinks, once. It's out of sync.

You nod. "So _you're_ the radio presenter?" After the incident with the headphones, you'd found yourself going off music. "That's cool."

Cecil beams. You are taken aback by just how much enthusiasm he can convert through a flash of teeth. "Yes," he says. "Yes, it is."

You stand in silence. Cecil takes hold of your hand, and clasps it between his two. He blows across your fingers. Your stomach flips.

"That should make your taps work," he says. "Have a good day. And tune in!"

Cecil, you can't help but notice, cuts a rather striking figure. You find yourself liking that.

 

 

The taps work. You tune in.

 

 

Old Woman Josie offers regular advice. Often, you don't actually allow her inside you house. She appears anyway, poking around in cupboards, chattering her teeth quietly. One night, you return to find that all of your bins have been emptied.

"That would be Erika," Josie tells you. "Or was it Erika? Both of them are very sweet." She seems to ponder this for a moment, and then apparently forgets to continue.

You nod. "What do I do in the daytime?" you ask. "I honestly can't remember. You come and visit me in the evenings, and sometimes I find myself talking to Cecil Palmer - but apart from that, I don't know _what_ I do. Is that strange? Nobody else seems to mind."

Josie shrugs. "You're going to have a job, I presume." She leans forward, and stares at you. "Cecil fixed up your taps, didn't he?"

You nod. "Yeah," you say, "but they spray milk, now. He didn't do a very good job."

"Cecil looks after us," is all Josie says. This is followed by: "Not now, Erika. Can't you see that I'm engaged?"

"I quite like Cecil," you murmur to nobody in particular. "I _could_ get a job. Couldn't I?" 

 

 

You call your parents. They don't pick up. You try again, and find that the landline has been chewed through. You hold it in both hands, as it sparks softly to itself. 

"Oh," you say. You dial Cecil's number.

"Hello," Cecil Palmer says. "It's you."

"You made my taps work." You lean back into the sofa, and allow the cushions to envelop you. "I think you have some kind of magic."

"Thank you," Cecil says, voice choked, and hangs up. He calls back a minute later. "Sorry. I got over emotional."

"It's alright." You tap your fingers against the arm of the chair. "I listened to your show. You've got a boyfriend. His name's Carlos."

You can hear Cecil nodding. It's disorientating. "Yes. He is. And I do."

"I think I'm going to meet him," you say. "If that's alright. Do I have to ask permission?"

"If you want." Cecil shrugs. The noise booms. "You're a very agreeable person."

"Call me back," you say, and hang up. You walk to the window, and open it. The lights are hanging low - somewhere in the street, a member of the Secret Police is loitering. You wave downwards, and feel the shadows shimmer. You bask in the glow, head titled upwards, watching the stars.

 

 

Carlos is a very handsome person. You can say this objectively. His hair is dark, and thick, and wavy; his jaw is solid, and straight, and firm. He has teeth like tombstones.

Since you have started listening to the radio, your opinion of his attractiveness has risen substantially, despite the fact that, prior to the broadcasts, you were determinedly uninterested. You have suspicions that Cecil is secretly brainwashing the town. You don't care.

Carlos is a scientist. As such, he is a sociable animal, and works in a team. This is what he's doing now. There are a whole horde of them, lab coats fluttering, pens tucked neatly into their top pockets.

"I'm sorry, but we really are very busy," Carlos says, gently but firmly ushering you towards the door. You move readily.

"Sorry," you murmur. "I just - keep ending up back here. Hey. Have you seen Cecil, around? I think we're getting along well together. Isn't that funny? That two people can do that. I don't think I can call Cecil a _person_ , though."

Carlos shakes his head. "Nope," he says - and really, it could be to anything. "I mean - yes. I have. Recently. But I need to finish this off. It's our date night." Carlos says the final two words with a touch of reverence.

"What are you doing?"

Carlos's cheeks are flushed. "I can't say," he admits, leaning in, "it's a surprise, and you're going to see Cecil. I want you to tell him that he's a very nice man. Can you do that?"

You smile at him, because, despite being a practical deity of manliness, Carlos is almost _charmingly awkward_.

"You're Josie's next door neighbour," Carlos says, out of the blue. "How are the angels?" 

You stare at him. "Angels?" you say. "What _are_ angels?" 

 

 

Cecil is in the bowling alley. He's practising - throwing ball after ball after ball, into the dark, gaping maw where they are consumed by the town leopard. You wonder when these things stopped scaring you.

Cecil spots you, at last. He offers up a wave, which, out of cordiality, you return. Sweat shimmers on Cecil's brow. He walks leisurely over to you, avoiding the broken glass swept up into mounds. Somehow, you are both in the bowling lane, now.

"I don't understand," you say. "I can't remember anything. I wasn't supposed to be here. I just wander around and around, talking to people."

A ball spins down the aisle. It catches the light, glowing bronze and red and gold. There's a loud scream, followed swiftly by a series of crunches.

Cecil nods. He bites his lip, and lines up another shot. "That's life," he says, each word a silken caress. You can understand what Carlos sees in him.

"I want to be normal. I want to do normal things. I want to have a proper job, instead of all this - walking." You run yours hands down your face. "I don't know. I don't know anymore."

Cecil pats your shoulder consolingly. You lean into the touch, dropping your head onto his shoulder. "Uh," Cecil says. "I do have a boyfriend. His name is Carlos. Did I mention that? Because I think I did."

"Sure," you say, "I'm aware. I don't know why I'm doing this."

Slowly, his hands come up. They encircle you. For the first time, you understand precisely why you are doing what you are doing.

"Would you consider being friends, Cecil?" you say.

The regurgitated bowling ball lands by Cecil's left foot. It rolls for a couple of metres, and then stops.

"I would," Cecil says.

 

 

Back at home, there's a gift on your table. It sits in the middle, prominent and noticeable and everything else a present usually is. It is wrapped up in pink paper, which is covered in repeated boxes filled with the catchy slogan: _Congratulations! It's Your Child! You Have One! Enjoy!_

Old Woman Josie is oddly absent. So are the Erikas. You keep on spotting them out of the corner of your eye. (Josie insists they are angels, even though you're not supposed to talk about those.) 

You open the box, picking the clasp apart with your fingernails. In it, there's a piece of paper, which fills you with the strangest sense of dread.

This is what you're meant to be doing, the note says, in an unfamiliar scrawl. You don't recognise the handwriting. It makes your skin creep, and your heart thud.

You watch the words for some time, and then go to take a bath.

 

 

(The following day, you agree to an internship at the radio station.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Vague Unease](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5362367) by [aliensandcats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliensandcats/pseuds/aliensandcats)




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